


Strange Tastes

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Courtship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, MerMay 2020, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Predator/Prey, Size Kink, Spitroasting, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Monsters, Top Shiro (Voltron), i know it's june don't look at me, i promise keith is very there for it tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: The Galra are solitary creatures, except when it is time to mate, and then all hell breaks loose.Shiro decided to spend this mating season alone, but he didn't anticipate being rudely interrupted by a little thief.Luckily, he has the perfect punishment in mind.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 1076





	Strange Tastes

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to those of you who absolutely enabled me on twitter when i was like "hey so what if big tentacle monster shiro and spunky lionfish merkeith - and then what if....eggs??" and y'all were like "EGGS." so here's that. enjoy mermay in june!
> 
> (did I end up falling down a really questionable rabbit hole of research for this fic and was my visceral fear of the ocean rekindled? yes.)
> 
> [follow me on twitter @saltyshiro for more sheiths!](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro)

The Galra are solitary creatures, except when it is time to mate, and all hell breaks loose.

Shiro is not fond of spending time with other Galra, if you could call what they do to each other during mating season “spending time” with each other. It is more like the ocean’s biggest, longest, most violent orgy, a point well-proven by the fact that he has more scars from others of his kind than from actual predators. 

Of course, this is also probably due to the fact that the Galra, who are more or less twice the size of orcas and far more intelligent, have no natural predators. (As long as they stay out of the deepest parts of the sea, where everything has a natural predator, because the deep sea is fucking terrifying.)

So, this year, Shiro is staying put. He is resolved to it, even as he worries his instincts might prevent him from doing so. It is still early in the season, but already he is restless, and because he has more or less shut himself in his cave, with enough shellfish and such to last him a while, he cannot swim to work off the tension. He realizes that he may have made a mistake when he awakens not once, not twice, but three times to his tentacles attempting to do unspeakable things with each other.

Shiro has been called a prude Galra, it is true. This means that Shiro is picky about who he sticks his cock into, and who he lets stick their cock into him. This, he thinks, should really be the bare minimum of a standard, but most Galra care more about passing on the strongest genes than getting to know each other. Their mating instincts are partly to blame for this, making them dangerously horny to the point of being a threat to themselves and others, but Shiro thinks it’s a poor excuse to savage each other every year.

Besides, the Galra population is booming. He won’t be missed. Hopefully. 

There is, however, one small problem. Shiro has a thief.

Each time he wakes up from his uneasy slumber, he swears his store of food is slightly smaller. The thief never takes much — a clam there, several mussels here, but they’re getting bolder, and Shiro is now certain that it isn’t just his hazy mind playing tricks on him. When the thief steals a particularly large and juicy-looking oyster, Shiro decides he’s had enough. What foolish manner of creature would dare to steal from a Galra, and at this time of year, no less? Shiro bristles at it, honestly — does this thief take him for a weakling, shut away from the rest of his kind as he is? Shiro is not weak, just — tired. And this thief will not be tolerated any longer.

That night, when the faint sunlight filtering down through the blue current is replaced by the silver moon, Shiro feigns slumber. He lets himself relax against his rocky nest, made of smooth pebbles and intricately placed seaweeds for added comfort. It is his pride and joy, and even if there will be no hatchlings this year, it brings him a sense of calm and normalcy. He tucks his tentacles harmlessly beneath himself in a limp, eight-pointed star, the ninth “tentacle” curled securely at the center of them. Then he closes his eyes, gills opening to the water, and pretends to drift off. 

He may not be able to see, but Galra have decent enough hearing...and, more importantly, an excellent sense of smell. It is the latter which helps him tonight, as he holds still and lies in wait for his little thief, glad both for the diversion and for the chance to perhaps make up for all that lost shellfish with some fresh meat. For a while, there is no movement, no change in scent, and Shiro wonders if he was just being paranoid after all, but then — a ripple in the water, slight but unmistakable, and following it, an unexpected scent, lingering in Shiro’s cave, carried on the current...a Mer. 

Shiro’s brow furrows. Well, he is not often fond of making meals of those slippery little creatures, for they travel in large groups and have intelligence to match Galra (though not size nor strength), but this one is utterly alone. A misstep on their part, Shiro thinks smugly, and then his limp, harmless-looking tentacles awaken.

Three of them shoot out towards the intruder, and Shiro’s eyes fly open in triumph as they make contact and the Mer lets out a startled cry. Each tentacle is so sensitive it can detect the slightest of movements, even with Shiro’s eyes closed, even from a good distance, and the thief cannot escape their reach. Shiro reels in the struggling Mer, trapped in his relentless coils, and then — the little thief _stings_ him.

Shiro snarls in pain, tentacles spasming around the Mer’s writhing tail and stiff torso, but he does not let go. He keeps the creature at arm’s length, glaring down at it. It appears to be a male, based on Shiro’s admittedly limited knowledge of Merfolk, but even he can recognize what kind of Mer it is. 

Its coloration is unmistakable: thick rust-red tail striped with creamy white, the slim and deceptively pretty fins gathered at its hips and forearms, each tipped in a stinger with venom capable of killing most fish in the ocean. His lips curl in disdain. His little thief is a lionfish. How fitting. The bravest Mer in the sea, hm? Well, this one’s bravery will be its end. He’ll see to that.

When its sting doesn’t make him release it, the Mer panics further, snapping at his tentacles with sharp little teeth until Shiro’s grip on it begins to cut off air and its stubborn struggles get weaker. Shiro clicks his tongue. “Lionfish venom doesn’t work on my kind, don’t waste it...not that you’ll have much more use of it after I’m done with you. Do you take me for a weakling, little lionfish? Thought you could get away with stealing from a century-old Galra, hm?”

Panic flickers across its — his? — face, a pretty face, Shiro thinks idly. Wide violet eyes, pink parted lips, a cute nose. The Mer’s long black hair swirls around said face when he shakes his head violently in reply.

Shiro doesn’t loosen his grip. “No? You’re just that desperate, then? Willing to risk this,” he opens his jaws, lets the Mer see the rows of jagged teeth, “for a few clams?”

The Mer shakes his head harder, face now turning blue as Shiro’s coils tighten around his chest. He contemplates just strangling him then and there, but there’s something intriguing about this foolish Mer, and the thing hasn’t stung him again, so maybe it has an ounce of sense left after all. Shiro relents with his bruising grip, still keeping the coils inescapable, but the Mer gulps in fresh seawater, gills fluttering wildly and eyes rolling back in relief. The sight makes Shiro’s belly warm, and — hm. That’s alarming. He pushes that thought — or rather, instinct — aside.

“No,” the Mer gasps as soon as he can speak, and Shiro’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“No?” he demands. “No, you don’t want me to rip you to shreds and eat you up like I’m sure you’ve eaten all of your stolen treats?”

The Mer swallows. “No,” he repeats, “I don’t think you’re a weakling.” 

Well, at least he’s answered the right question. Shiro studies him. “You mock me, then, taking my prey from under my nose while I sleep, challenging my ability to defend my own home.”

The Mer’s face twists. “That — that was not my intent.”

“Oh? Your intent was not to steal; that was simply an accident?” Shiro’s lip curls. “Don’t lie to me, little lionfish. I’m not in the mood for games.”

His expression is now more than a little desperate. “I — I am sorry for taking your food. I did not think – I — _nngh!”_

Shiro’s coils increase their pressure. “No. Clearly you did _not_ think. Surely there are other, less deadly creatures to take from, hm?”

The Mer stares up at him, and then he does a strange thing — he blushes, and ducks his head. “Yes,” he whispers, so quiet Shiro has to lean closer to hear him, “but I find you more fascinating than any of them.”

Shiro jerks back in surprise. “Fascinating?” he demands. “What is the meaning of that?” Again, his belly warms, and again he ignores it, though it is harder to do so this time. 

Face still red, the Mer admits, “I have been called a strange Mer. But I do not fear you.” Shiro gawks at him in disbelief, but indeed, the Mer has fallen still, and Shiro can feel his heartbeat steady against his squeezing tentacles. “I think you are — beautiful.”

Shiro stares at him. His bewilderment slowly turns to a sharp, simmering rage. “And I think you are somehow an even more foolish Mer than I first suspected. _Beautiful?”_ He laughs, and it is not a sweet sound, but rather harsh and scornful. Shiro is _not_ beautiful; few Galra could ever be considered such, and he is not pleased to be mocked so completely by this little lionfish thief. The Mer flinches, real fear finally sinking into his pretty face. “You come into my home and take from me and have the nerve to lie yet again? Beautiful. _Ha._ We Galra are monsters to you Mer, I know that, so don’t think some empty flattery will save you now.”

“Wait!” the Mer cries, struggling anew as Shiro’s tentacles lift him upwards, Shiro’s jaws opening wide. “It is not mockery, I speak true, I —” He falls silent in apparent terror when Shiro’s tongue meets him, its length easily comparable to his torso. Shiro draws his tongue over the Mer’s tense body, intending to then draw the unfortunate creature into his waiting maw, but he does not expect the taste that blooms on his tongue when he does so.

The Mer, it seems, was not lying. Because although Shiro tastes fear, he can also taste the thick, warm flavor of arousal. He pauses. The little lionfish — is getting off on this. _What in the seven seas —_

When Shiro stops licking him, the Mer does not try to get free again, but stays pliant in his grip, gills fluttering and face flushed, fins shuddering from more than just the current. “You —” Shiro starts, then stops, for the warmth in his belly is even more insistent, and as his tentacles curl more curiously around the Mer’s slumped body, the inklings of an idea form in him. It’s not a very good idea.

Then again, neither was stealing from a sleeping Galra in mating season.

“Will you eat me?” the Mer asks quietly. He’s far too calm when he asks this question. 

“I don’t know yet,” Shiro replies slowly. “I don’t know if I like the taste of filthy lust.”

The Mer’s eyes widen hugely, and then his pupils dilate, his body stiffening again. “You — can taste —”

“Do you _want_ me to eat you?” Shiro demands in disbelief. “Do you have no damn survival instincts at all?”

The Mer licks his lips. “I — I don’t want to be eaten,” he says. 

“Oh? So you just liked this, then?” Shiro licks him again and the Mer trembles against his tongue, yet Shiro swears he leans into it. The taste of his want is stronger now. “Not only are you a thief, you’re a _sick_ little Mer.”

The Mer flinches but doesn’t try to pull away or deny it. “I — I know my sting doesn’t harm you,” he gasps. “I’m sorry I used it. I panicked.”

“If you were any other Mer, you’d still be stinging me,” Shiro retorts. “Not apologizing, what the _fuck.”_

“I’m Keith,” the Mer offers.

Shiro growls and in his flustered state, tosses the Mer aside, tentacles curling away in shock. “Don’t tell me your _name!”_ he snaps. “What is wrong with you?” He has _principles,_ he doesn’t like to eat things when he knows their name. His appetite is ruined.

His appetite for food, anyway.

The Mer doesn’t even try to escape. He just lays in the sand of Shiro’s cave, peering up at him. “No idea,” he — _Keith_ , Shiro allows himself to think — admits, “but I have...long admired you from afar, and I did not know how to approach you, so I snuck in while you were asleep and…” His tail flicks nervously. “It’s a Mer courtship ritual, to hide a potential mate’s food from them, a — a game. I guess it’s not a very good game. But I didn’t eat any of it. I was just trying to see if you would find it and then — find me.”

Shiro is flabbergasted. “A courtship….game.” He has no idea what to make of this. “And what would I do when I found you?”

“I – I don’t know.” Keith turns redder, ducking his head, but Shiro sees the way his tail twitches and sees, too, a break in the stripes along it, a thin slit at the top of it. His eyes narrow. The slit can get bigger – he hopes. Mer don’t have a mating season like the Galra...which, he assumes, means they’re in the mood all year. 

Shiro shifts forward, looming over the Mer curled in the sand, and says in a low voice, “I think you’re lying. I think you know exactly what you wanted me to do when I found you.” Keith stiffens, but to Shiro’s delight, the slit on his tail twitches under his scrutiny – opening, his hindbrain thinks, for him. “You know why I haven’t left my cave to find you and the food you stole from me, little lionfish? Because it’s the Galra mating season.”

Keith’s gills flutter in what should be panic, but he still isn’t fleeing, and the sound he lets out is plaintive, a high, soft keen. “Oh,” he gasps, “but – but you are not –”

“With my brethren? No. I wasn’t in the mood for more scars this year.” Shiro tilts his head. “But I’m still very much in the mood to breed.” 

Keith whimpers. His tail curls. Shiro seizes it with his two largest tentacles and lifts Keith back up, and the lionfish shudders, his tail curling around Shiro’s tentacles as best it can. The sensation is almost too much, too similar to mating rituals of the Galra, but those are all brutish force and struggles for dominance, and this – the lionfish isn’t struggling at all, just staring up at Shiro with those wide, luminous eyes, his lower lip trembling with something Shiro recognizes not as fear, but as anticipation. Shiro rubs a slightly smaller tentacle directly over the Mer’s tail, over what’s visible of his slit, and Keith jerks in his grasp, lips parting on a little gasp, scales parting under Shiro’s touch. The smooth scales of his flexing tail are pleasing to rub his tentacles against, and Keith seems to have no objections.

Still, Shiro thinks as he reluctantly pauses in his fondling, he ought to make sure. Eating an intruder is one thing, fucking them and filling them with his eggs is quite another. At the thought, the warmth in his belly becomes almost unbearable, and his ninth tentacle thickens beneath him. 

“And you?” Shiro demands. “What do _you_ want, little lionfish?”

Keith blinks, startled, like he can’t believe Shiro is asking. Shiro’s not sure why he’s asking, frankly, when he could have fucked the Mer open by now, but the few shreds of reason he has left tell him that would be possibly even ruder than stealing clams. 

“I – I want you,” Keith stammers, ducking his red face, and Shiro gawks at him. Has anyone ever said that to him before? Ever? Galra don’t exactly go around professing their desire for each other. 

But, honestly? It really does it for Shiro.

“Then you shall have me,” Shiro growls, and wastes no time then in pressing the tip of his smallest tentacle – which is still easily the width of Keith’s upper arm at its thickest point – to the Mer’s little slit. 

Keith jerks in his grasp and says, strangled, “Wait – I’m not ready, I –”

“Not ready?” Shiro snaps. His tentacle delves into the Mer’s slit and Keith groans, but sure enough the fit is tight and weirdly dry, and Shiro’s tentacle slips out unhappily. “What –”

Keith swallows. “You – you have to make me wet, first.”

Shiro eyes him. “We are surrounded by water,” he says doubtfully. “Surely that is wet enough.” But then he considers it, and considers how wet Galra get when taking eggs, and begins to see Keith’s point. Galra don’t need any additional stimulation beyond their mating hormones, but...it seems Shiro will have to get a little creative. “How?” he relents.

“Your mouth,” Keith whispers. “That felt – good.”

Shiro hums, leaning in and lifting his tentacle away to draw his tongue slowly over Keith’s tail, brow furrowing as he feels the small ridges of Keith’s slit begin to stiffen under his slow licks. Keith moans aloud when Shiro licks harder, focusing his attention on the Mer’s slit, the tip of his tongue wriggling against it, and the taste of arousal is so much stronger here, tinged with musk and sweetness. Keith arches up into it, and that’s a pretty sight, Shiro thinks with a startling rush of approval and arousal of his own. He can already imagine how good Keith will look squirming on his cock –

Said cock finally slips free of its hiding place at the center of his other tentacles, curiously seeking this new, warm body and curling up towards Keith, and when the Mer sees it he whines, eyes rolling back and then his slit – opens – against Shiro’s tongue, like a flower blooming. Keith jerks and whimpers when Shiro keeps licking at it, now almost ravenous for the taste, fascinated to see how much wider Keith can open. His slit is swelling, folds spreading wide against the heavy lap of Shiro’s tongue, and when Shiro tries to force the tip of his tongue inside, Keith shouts, but this time in pleasure, without discomfort, and Shiro feels the Mer’s slit pulse and tighten around his tongue before his mouth is flooded with wetness, a deluge of honey-sweet syrup that pools on his tongue and glistens on Keith’s stretched slit when Shiro pulls away. 

Thick droplets, thicker than water, slip from his slit and cling to Shiro’s tentacle when he presses it in again. This time, Keith’s body swallows him whole, the Mer crying out and clenching around the curling intrusion, moaning in wordless want as Shiro presses deeper, deeper, seeing just how far the Mer’s little body can take him. Very far, as it turns out, and when Shiro looks closely he can see the Mer’s belly bulging slightly outwards when Shiro’s tentacle wriggles within him. 

The sight makes his cock thicken, and when Keith gasps, “Please, please, you can,” Shiro needs no other prompting. His tentacle yanks out of Keith in so swift a movement that the Mer howls, his suddenly-empty slit fluttering around nothing, and then opening pliant and perfect around Shiro’s cock as he presses the tip to sloppy, rosy folds. 

Shiro’s cock is thicker than the first tentacle he prepared the Mer with, and it will only grow thicker when sheathed in the tight heat of the little lionfish’s body. Keith must feel it thickening, for his head falls back with a helpless sob and his tail thrashes weakly in Shiro’s grasp, not to get away but out of the overwhelming sensation, a sensation which intensifies for both of them as Shiro’s cock slides deeper, curling and stiffening, and all the while leaking a slickness not unlike Keith’s own. It is meant to relax him, to open the rippling channel of his slit to receive Shiro’s eggs, and it’s working if Keith’s shuddering and slow but relentless loosening around his cock is any indication. 

Yet, Shiro is so big compared to the Mer that any looseness is quickly forgotten with every additional inch of cock Shiro feeds into him. There is no way it will all fit, but Keith takes more than Shiro thought was possible, impaled on easily a third of the throbbing tentacle. Keith feels so tight and warm and soft inside, and Shiro coos at him, drawing him closer to his body as Keith slips into near-delirium, gulping in water, his gills working desperately and eyes wild.

“Hush, I have you,” Shiro promises, and opens his mouth, intending to lick over where they’re joined, to send Keith spiraling further into ecstatic oblivion, but as he shows his teeth Keith wails and comes again, hard, his slit splattering more slickness around Shiro’s cock and making the Galra growl in surprise and at the unimaginable pleasure of Keith so tight and needy around him. Surely he is ruined for other Galra after this. He tells Keith this, snarls, “Sick little lionfish, you like the thought that I could eat you? Devour you after I’m done with you, or else keep you here with me for the rest of the season until you forget anything but the feeling of me fucking you into climax –”

Keith screams, silent and open-mouthed, and catches Shiro’s gaze with his own desperate eyes, and for some reason that’s it, that’s enough for the warmth in Shiro’s belly to blossom and for his cock to pump its eggs into Keith’s waiting body. When the Mer feels the first of them he does scream aloud, tail squeezing around Shiro’s tentacles and hands grasping frantically for some purchase until Shiro catches his wrists and binds them with another tentacle above his head. Keith doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight it even as Shiro’s soft, smooth eggs begin to fill him, the visible bulge of his belly now unmistakable, his screams tapering off into soft whimpers as Shiro continues to pump him full, until Keith must feel near to bursting. 

Shiro lays down with him in his nest, tentacles caressing every inch of Keith’s shaking body, slipping the tip of a tentacle into the Mer’s mouth just to see what he’ll do, and grinning in utter satisfaction when Keith just takes it, moaning around Shiro’s flesh and sucking obediently, eyes falling shut. It seems to comfort him, actually, and he comes a third time like that, caught between Shiro’s tentacles on both ends, now opening his throat and slit for Shiro’s pleasure. 

Shiro knows not all of his eggs will fit, and he finds he has no desire to break the Mer – his anger from before has faded into something more like fondness, and seeing Keith with his belly round and lips soft and pink around a soothing tentacle is a very good sight indeed. When Shiro’s cock begins to pull out, however, Keith bucks in a slow panic against him, making a pleading, muffled noise, the fear in his eyes shining again. 

Shiro rumbles at him, tentacles sliding over him, surrounding him, one waiting to replace his cock and keep the little lionfish plugged and pleasured in its absence. He lowers his head to nuzzle into Keith’s black hair and feels the Mer relax, whimpering happily as Shiro’s tentacles rub gently over his belly. He will have no offspring this year, but Keith takes his eggs beautifully.

“I think I’ll keep you, little lionfish,” Shiro tells the Mer utterly trapped in his coils, and utterly uninterested in escaping them. 

“Please,” Keith gasps when Shiro lets him speak, and whatever else he wanted to say is lost in Shiro’s tongue as he fills the Mer’s mouth with it, but Shiro can’t taste a single hint of fear in him.


End file.
